


Resolve

by Eloarei



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family get-togethers, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloarei/pseuds/Eloarei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could avoid their questions, could endure their prying and teasing; he'd done so nearly all his life. But he didn't have to. And why should he? No reason. There was no good reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolve

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first HINABN fic, so inevitably I have quite the soft spot for it. =)

_So this is what my life has come to,_ he thought miserably as he sat in a corner and listened to the energetic chattering of his extensive family. _Hiding in plain sight while everyone pretends they're not staring._ It was obvious enough that they were, although apparently only his mother lacked the tact to at least fake disinterest. But he was used to her scrutiny. 

No, it was the attention of his less-nuclear relatives that bothered him most. His cousin Annette's family were particularly vile. Annette herself had always been rather kind to him as he was growing up; being several years older, she'd always acted somewhat protective of the younger cousins. But now they were grown, and she was married to some hulking idiot who wouldn't have recognized discretion if it'd kicked him in the face. 

“You remember Conrad?” she'd asked earlier, as means of reintroduction. 

The man had taken a moment to look at him in consideration before replying with a sneer, “Oh right, the _artist._ I don't remember him looking so sickly though.”

Her children weren't much better. The little spiky-haired brat kept throwing bits of the potluck dinner at him when his parents weren't looking, and the little girl spent most of the evening hiding behind her mother and eying him warily. 

Currently, Annette's obnoxious husband (his name was... Travis, or something) was telling some crude joke that the vast majority of the room's drunken adults seemed to find hilarious, but which he could bot be bothered to listen to, until he caught his name through the grating chalkboard scratch of the man's voice.   
“I'm sure Conrad could tell us all about that.”

“All about what?” he asked defensively, not liking Travis' condescending tone of voice. 

The big man waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, never mind Connie, it's not a big deal.” A few other snickered, either at the nickname or the joke that he (now obviously) had somehow been the butt of, but it wasn't being laughed at that made him cringe. He'd long been the favorite target at family functions; like his mother's constant peering, it was nothing to get riled up about. No, it was his intuitive sense that this man saw him as prey and was about to back him into a corner. 

“Speaking of _Connie_ ,” the man began, adding a dramatic pause to let his listeners imagine, “why didn't you bring your girlfriend tonight?” 

Conrad glared, unamused by Travis' 'clever' joke. He knew this was inevitably going one of two places, neither of which could possibly be good, but he couldn't think of a way to divert what would surely be a train-wreck, and so he walked right into it. “...I don't actually have a girlfriend...” 

Travis feigned surprise; the silent living-room full of onlookers waited in anticipation. “Oh yeah? Where'd you get that bruise on your neck then?” he asked, as if he had all the right in the world to know. 

Conrad struggled to think of an appropriate response. 'What bruise?' would be seen through in an instant; he'd been rubbing at it self-consciously all night. He considered telling them in was from an ex (since half of them seemed to assume it was a hickey anyway) but aside from being blatantly untrue, he knew it would trigger an avalanche of questions (largely from his prying mother) that he'd never be able to answer. He imagined for a moment what might happen if he told them the truth, but shuddered and put the idea far behind him. He'd never divulged a sentence about his personal life (part of the reason these hyenas were all so damn curious, surely, besides being insufferable gossips) and didn't see a reason to start now. 

He'd been stammering for a moment, painfully unable to come up with a good lie ( _why_ hadn't compulsive lying been one of his many problems?!), when his cell phone rang, its generic ring-tone sounding like an angelic chorus in his time of need. 

The crowd let out a collective groan, knowing that the prey, their best source of entertainment, had just barely escaped, and returned to their previous tasks as Conrad left the room to take the call. 

“Hello?” he answered gratefully, without even bothering to check the caller ID. 

He was a little surprised to hear Worth's voice from the tiny iPhone speaker. “Hey, y' hungry? I jus' had a fresh donor come through 'n I know ya like it better warm.” 

Conrad almost laughed, wondering what could have put Worth in such a good mood he'd invite him over for dinner. “Are you being _charitable_? Hah.” Worth grunted from the other side, as if he were about to speak up and defend his dishonor, but Conrad wasn't in the mood to argue, even good-naturedly. “Actually, that sounds great, but, uh, I can't. I'm at dinner with my family...” 

“Pft. Ditch 'em.” 

It took Conrad a moment to recover from that suggestion. Did Worth _really_ just tell him to _ditch_ his family, as if it were an actual possibility? “I, I dunno. I don't think so. Thanks for the invite though.” 

Worth's short silence indicated he was shrugging. “Fine. Offer still stands if ya change yer mind. Have fun with yer family.” And then the line was dead, and Conrad was sitting alone in the dark in his old room, listening to the laughter of the people that some cruel fate had decided on to be his relatives. 

_Ditch them? Really?_ He imagined what the rest of the night would be like, once he returned to the vicious crowd, how bad the suggestive taunting would become. He visualized his mother's stare, felt her cold glare on his neck and too-pale face. He could avoid their questions, could endure their prying and teasing; he'd done so nearly all his life. 

But he didn't have to. And why should he? Why sit there and be gaped at like a circus attraction when he could be spending his time with people who _knew_ he was different and didn't give a damn? Why pretend he wasn't starving when there was a warm dinner waiting for him so close to home? And _home_. Why bother acting like this place had once been his home, when it had never felt like more than a prison? 

No reason. There was no good reason. 

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and headed back to the living room to find his coat. Obnoxious Travis turned his way when he noticed his prey had returned. “So, who was it, Connie?” he asked, an annoying twinge of condescension in his voice. 

“My doctor,” Conrad replied, shrugging on his jacket and heading for the door. “I've got to go.” And he closed the door behind him before any more questions could be asked. They'd never really cared; they didn't need to know. 

Dinner would probably be cold by the time he got to it, but it didn't really matter. Drinking cold blood and bickering with Worth was infinitely preferable to being surrounded by familiar strangers, no matter how long they'd known each other. 

With his car key in the ignition, he sat in the silence and stared at the stars for a moment. _I don't want to hide anymore,_ he decided, so he turned the key and headed home, determined to hold on to this honest resolve.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a second part half-written, but if I post it, it'll probably be as a companion story, rather than a second chapter. Thanks very much for reading!


End file.
